


Chase

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Don't Try This At Home, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high speed chase is clearly the best time to get handsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the lovely flyingspaceoctopi's text post on tumblr, which read, "What if….Junkrat giving Roadhog a handjob on the bike DURING a high speed police chase. think about it".
> 
> I thought about it a lot.

“Don’t slow down,” Junkrat warned. Sirens flashed behind them and he laughed, off kilter and delighted, when Roadhog revved the bike’s engine, putting on more speed. His fingers bumped and stuttered over the larger man’s trousers, leaning out of the sidecar so he could reach.

It was a terrible idea, proper wretched, but he couldn’t resist. It was too bad not to try.

Part of him really expected ‘Hog to snap at him to knock it off, to have his hands slapped away. After all, there were cops chasing them and they had just gotten done knocking off the biggest bank in the area, so really there should have been priorities for him to keep in order. Like, get the police off their heels, _then_ try out the marvelous idea of giving his bodyguard a handy while they tore off down the highway. Probably the right thing to do would be to wait until they were _not_ _on_ the highway, yeah that would be even better, or more still, wait ‘til they weren’t on the _bike_ anymore.

But he can’t wait, and judging by the fact that Roadhog isn’t swatting him away or even glaring at him (the mask hides a lot, but he can always tell when the big man is glaring), he guesses his bodyguard is in the same mindset.

It takes a bit of finessing before he manages to free ‘Hog’s cock. He’s only got one hand to work with, the metal one outstretched to keep his balance as he leans over the edge of the sidecar. Roadhog is still soft at first, but a few languid strokes get a quick response from the older man.

“Shit,” Roadhog breathes after a few moments, the word a gravelly whisper on the breeze. That more than anything goes to Junkrat’s ego, inflating the notion that this was a good idea. It’s not exactly whimpers of desire and need, but this is ‘Hog, and for him, one soft little utterance is just about dead on the same.

The sirens seem louder than ever, maybe because they’re gaining, maybe because Junkrat is listening more acutely. He cackles quietly, wondering if there isn’t some way in the future he might be able to suck the big guy off instead of just treating him to his hand. Not really the time to try figuring out the logistics of giving head on a moving motorcycle, during a high speed chase, but he does wonder if it’s possible. And if ‘Hog would allow it.

He notices that they’re slowing, not much but just slightly, just enough, as the older man gets more into the attention being paid him. Junkrat sees an easy solution to that little problem. “The faster you go, the faster _I’ll_ go,” he promises, and laughs again when Roadhog immediately speeds up.

“Gonna get come all over my ride,” ‘Hog growls after a few more seconds, and it’s all the younger man can do not to crack up again, because as fast as the wind's ripping past them, it’s probably not the _ride_ that’s going to get splattered, and they both know it. He bites his lip against further laughter, holding up his end of the bargain and stroking his bodyguard fast and rough.

“I’ll clean it up later,” he promises, and ‘Hog just growls, low and wordless. He’s trying to hold back, but Jamie won’t let him. “C’mon, Hoggie me Hog, c’mon. I know yer riiiiight ‘bout there…”

The larger man lasts for another dazzling minute, steering them through traffic with impressive precision for a guy getting one hell of a hand job. ‘Rat doesn’t even notice that they’d finally lost the police until he’s watching his partner come and realizing the sirens are far away, the flashing lights gone for now. He wipes his hand off on his shorts, crowing.

“Gettin’ you off gets th’ cops off our backs!” he laughs, delighted as they fly off into the unlit night. “I oughta do that every time!”


End file.
